


That. And the petals are falling

by Wildflowerfield



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU I think, Hanahaki Disease, Idk what's happened, It's supposed to be sad but I can't make my boys unhappy so, M/M, Oops I guess?, Viktor still is one, Yuuri is not a figure skater, pls forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildflowerfield/pseuds/Wildflowerfield
Summary: When Yuuri opens his eyes, he's greeted with a white celling and florescent lights that are harsh and bright, a blunt reminder that this place is not home. The air smells of chlorine.What is he doing here?Ah, right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry in advance for anything I've done.  
> But seriously i love this ship.
> 
> Now proofread :))))

  When Yuuri opens his eyes, he's greeted with a white celling and florescent lights that are harsh and bright, a blunt reminder that this place is not home. The air smells of chlorine.

   What is he doing here?  
   Ah, right.

  Yuuri closes his eyes, a hand splayed over his heart, and starts counting from one to ten. There's a clock in the room, its ticking is methodical and jarringly loud in the stillness of the air around him. It is fine, though, and Yuuri find himself counting to the ticking instead.

 _One_. He is Katsuki Yuuri, a son, a brother, and a friend.

 _Two_. He is Katsuki Yuuri, a hopeless romantic, and paradoxically, a realist.

 _Three_. He is Kastuki Yuuri, a patient who has just gone under the surgery to cut off the stems wrapping around his heart, and the blue blue _blue_ petals clogging up his lungs, making every single breath feel like the last.

 _Four_. He is Kastuki Yuuri, and he's fallen in love once.

 _Five_. The person he loved is Viktor Nikiforov, and he doesn't love him back. 

 _Six_. His love is no more.

  Yuuri opens his eyes again, is greeted with a white celling and florescent lights, harsh and unsympathetic. He diverts his gaze to the window, and watches instead an inking sky, splashes of stars on the black canvas. _It's a shame_ , he thinks, that people don't look at the stars and ask for a wish anymore. They're so caught up with the fast paced, short lived mortality, all the while eluding that they have eternity at their command, that wishes are nothing but for children and the fools only.  
Yuuri sighs, and watches the stars until he falls asleep.

 _Seven_. He is Katsuki Yuuri. And he's a fool.

 

***

Morning, this time he is greeted with a very familiar face. The lights are off, and the sunlight is warm and soft, blurring the sharp edges of the crisp air, a bit of something pleasant and nice.

  "You're finally awake! " Phichit's smile is vibrant, a sunny day on the beach, when you look up from the load of work you're forced to do, and suddenly find yourself relaxing in some paradise with cocktails and coconut drink. But at the edge, there's something much like the pitter patter of the rain, smugded with worry and sadness and relief. Phichit doesn't notice, but Yuuri does, and he reaches for his friend.  
   

   "I am. "  
 

   He offers a weak smile, faded and bland, meant for reassuring. He doesn't have the energy to put on any other smile now. His mind is turning, spinning, once again, the reality that was pushed back yesterday is finally catching up with him. He feels a little sick.  
And Phichit understands. So he squeezes Yuuri's hand in his before standing up.  
 

  " I'm gonna get you some water. Be right back. "

   And with that, Yuuri is alone with his muddled thoughts again.  
   He thinks he wants to cry.  
   He thinks he wants to laugh, too.  
   Instead, Yuuri curls himself up and coughs. _Violently_.  
  And when he stops, there's a blue petal in his hand.  


_Eight_. He is Katsuki Yuuri, and he's even more of a fool than he thinks he is.

 

****

 

   Let's think of something else. Yuuri was thirteen when he received Vicchan. It's a cute little poodle, with caramel - colour fur, a cheery pink tounge, and bright eyes to match his own. Yuuri loved it very, very much.

   He played with Vicchan every day, brushed his fur, cleaned his sand box, and fed Vicchan the best he could. Which was, a lot. Vicchan was absolutely spoilt. But it's okay, because Vicchan was still Vicchan, nice and lovely, and Yuuri loved him very, very much.  
   

   So when Vicchan passed away (a red bouncy ball and a red monstrous truck, _bright bright red_ \- ), it's no surprise that Yuuri was devastated. He locked himself up in his room and had his first, full-blown panic attack.  
   

   When his parents finally broke down the door, they found him curling into a ball and hyperventilating. His hands were shaking so bad, and he felt like drowning, suffocating. _Help_ , he thought, but no word came out, and for a moment, he thought he would drown. The thought didn't help anything.  
     

   But then, he felt his mother's arms around him, and there's a headphone to stop the ringing in his head. _Ah_. He remembered how to breathe now.  
When the room'd stopped closing in on him, and Yuuri could at least function like half a human being, his mother looked at him in the eyes and cried, quietly, for him.  
 

    "Oh, there's nothing wrong with you, darling." She said when he asked what's wrong, her voice soft and forlorn. " You simply just love too much."  
      And he'd come to learn, that in this world, this is more of a curse than a blessing.

****

   The day Yuuri realized he loved Viktor, there was nothing grand about it. In fact, it was a terrible day. The sky was raining cats and dogs, he forgot his umbrella and tripped over his feet on his way to work, resulting in scrapped hands and soaked books. At the coffee shop, the machine broke down and a customer spilled hot coffee on his trousers. _Hot coffee_. The only thing that saved him from a second - degree burn was his apron and a thick table cloth he forgot to put away, bless them.  
     

   All in all, it was a horrible day.  
     

   So terrible, in fact, that it had Yuuri daydream in the middle of making a cappuccino and think about his later appointment with Viktor ( it's a long story, _don't_ ). Viktor, with his cascade of silvery moonlight framing his face, his eyes so blue and his smile so bright sometimes it hurts to look. Viktor, with his carefree and childlike attitude, with his forgetfulness and bluntness, so straight forward sometimes it border on being callous. Viktor, with his warmth and optimism, with his acceptance of Yuuri's anxiety, of who he is, with his tender touch and heart - shaped smiles, Viktor, Viktor, _Viktor -_

 _Oh._  
_I'm in love with Viktor._

   Outside, the sky was raining cats and dogs.

***

 

Blue rose : the unattainable, the mysterious.  
_("You are my heart, but I'm not yours. " )_

 

***

Yuuri is a selfish man, and he'd thought about keeping his love, along with growing stems and needle -sharp thorns, soft blue petals wrap his heart in silk so he could lay down on the cold, hard ground without fear. But -

" We miss you Yuuri. Come back soon. "

His mother has never said those words.  
Yuuri can't change what's happened, but at least, he could be selfless for once.  
  
_Twelve_. The blue petals he coughs out are stained with ruby red blood.

***  
   He's tired.  
 

   Surgery after surgery after surgery, the petals are still clogging his lungs and the thorned vices are still wrapping around his heart, constricting it until Yuuri can't _breathe -_  
_What a peculiar case,_ the doctors tell him. It's as if his love is too deep, it can't be cut off no matter how much they try. It's as if this love is embedded in him, a part of him already. A vital part.  
 

   (The ending is irrevocable, Yuuri knows. )  
 

   So he stops the operations, instead spending his short short time watching the rises and falls of the sun from his window, the sky changing from shades of gold and canary to ruby and vermilion to amethyst and violet _and_ -  
 

   The stars are rising, exquisite and breathtaking; Yuuri watches them still, and, like a fool he is, he still wishes under the iridescent lights.  
  
***

 _Please help them get over me. I've caused enough pain already_.

 

***

    "Have you told him yet? " Phichit asks him, one day, when they're curled against each other on his white hospital bed, binge - watching _The walking dead._ The sky is gloomy, sunless, but the room is bright and warm, the air is pleasantly humming. He doesn't really mind.

    "No. "

  Phichit doesn't ask more. The answer is obvious. He will never, ever burden anyone with such terrible knowledge of knowing that they're a part of the reason for his death. Not intentionally, no, but isn't that the worst thing? To blame oneself because of something inevitable. Something irrevocably written in the stars. No one deserves that. Definitely not Viktor. So Yuuri knows, without a silver of doubt, that this is a secret he will bring to the grave with him, literally, given the condition he's in. His only regret, is that he can't see Viktor's smile anymore.  
 

   It is fine, though. At least that smile won't die because of him.  
   

   Yuuri looks back at the laptop, and says: " I've always hated this movie." And relishes in Phichit's gasp of horror. He doesn't, really.

***

  On a rare day, when Yuuri feels he can breathe just a little bit easier, and the sky is warm with thousands nuances of pink and orange, he goes out for a small walk. Sometimes, Phitchit is with him. Sometimes, it's the nurse with a kind smile who likes chocolate and cried for him the first day she came. Sometimes, he's alone with the ancient sakura tree, its petals are a nostalgic reminder of home.  
Today, it's only him. He closes his eyes, and he can hear the even rhythm of the clock. Time is running out. He knows. It's a miracle that he can still hold out for so long, the doctors say. But his health is terrible, and Yuuri would be more than naive to think that this, somehow, will end with a happy ending. So Yuuri counts again. It's become some sort of habit for him now, counting his life into numbers of facts. Not that it helps him feel better, or life make more sense, or anything. He just, starts counting. And that's it.  
 

 _Twenty-five_. Yuuri played the piano, once upon a time. He liked the way the music bends to his will, making his imagination come true. He can't remember why he stopped -  
 

  There's a sound, so much like stomping, and Yuuri turns around.  
  Oh, srcatch that. He has a visitor today.  
  
  They're sitting under an old oak tree, a classic red - and - white picnic blanket underneath, and a basket full of pirozhkis. Yuri glares at him.

   "Stop smilling, fucking katsudon. "

   "Okay. " Yuuri turns away. The smile's still on his lips.

   "I can fucking see that! "

   Yuri is young, simmering with thousands of emotions he doesn't know how to deal with. So he opts for a perpetual scowl and shouting matches with terrible profanities to help release those things underneath his skin. After all, hatred is more tolerable than love. Just look at Yuuri.  
_How funny_ , Yuuri thinks, Yuri and him, they're so different, yet so alike. The short bark of a laugh tastes like copper in his mouth.

   It seems like the irony is not lost on Yuri, because he stops screeching, and looks away. The silence draped over them when eating is heavy, but not too uncomfortable. It's more - contemplative.  
   Suddenly, without warning, Yuri turns to him, mouth full of pirozhkis. His voice is clear and resolute.

   "I won't promise any thing. "  
   " .... Okay. "  
   

   They both turn back to take another bite of pirozhki.

 

*** 

   Here's how the conversation goes:  
_"I won't promise that I won't tell him. "_  
_"It's okay. I trust your judgement."_  
_"... Good."_  
  
****

 _Fifty two_. Yuuri's end is near. He knows it.

 _Fifty three_. He hopes Viktor won't remember him.

   His eyes are heavy, but Yuuri wills himself not to fall asleep yet. Now, day is the few hours that he's awake, and night is the time that he's not. It is no where near enough, but his body is too weak to stay conscious for too long. Every few minutes, his bed is a battlefield of dripping blood red petals that once were blue. He has to breathe with a modified oxygen mask, reserved only for patients like him. Oh, how much he _hates_ this.

   Most of his awake time, Yuuri reads. He starts reading books he wants to read but never had enough time. He reads books that are recommended for him, and books that he bought on a whim. He reads novel, classic, romance, philosophy, action, humor, anything. He reads like he'd never read. It makes his time feels more... alive. More worthwhile. Not just some slurring moments, strung together by the cruel joke of the unloved, the beginning of the end. He is, at least, more alive when he's reading.

   He's rereading 1Q84 now, one of his favorite of all time, his breaths shallow and painful, the bed is littered with soft petals he hasn't bothered to throw away. Phichit has training, and Yuuko's kids are catching flu from each other. There's no one else in the room except him. It's rare. He looks out from the window.

   It's a day washed with sweet, lemon - drop sunlight, the air is crisp and light, and the wind is telling an old tale from some faraway land, a resemblance of the fairy tales his mother once told him with soft voice and kind smile. It's Yuuri's favorite.

_Maybe it won't be too bad, dying in a beautiful day like this._

   Someone is running in the lobby. The footsteps are heavy, and suddenly his door is slammed open. Yuuri is, funny enough, breathless.

 _Viktor_.

   He looks terrible, clothes rumpled and hair messed up, a few strains sticking out of his usually impeccable stylish hair. His eyes are red, black eye bags prominent on his ghostly white skin. He looks -

   "Yuuri. " Viktor says, his voice a whirlwind of - what, is Viktor is thinking right now?

   Yuuri is supposed to panic, because Viktor finds out, and his heart will bear a weight he doesn't deserve, tormented with such terrifying thoughts, restless and haggard -  
But Yuuri is, so, so tired, his mind is blank and he smiles at Viktor:

   "You shouldn't be here."  
 

   Viktor looks like he's going to break:  
   "Why -?"

   He deserves an answer, and a confirmation that he's not the one at fault, Yuuri knows that. He pats the space on his bed, a reckon to come closer. Viktor is at his side immediately. Up close, he's even worse. Yuuri's heart is constricting, but he wills himself not to cough up those petals yet. He needs to do this. Somewhere, in his idle mind, there's a fact:

 _I love this man so much_.

   Yuuri closes his book and tentatively reaches for Viktor's hand. Immediately, he grasps Yuuri's hand in his, like he's afraid Yuuri will disappear the moment Viktor lets go.  
It's the opposite of that, Yuuri doesn't say. Instead, the words stumble out of his lips are this:

   "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. So please, don't beat yourself up because of this. I just - " Yuuri stutters, he looks away from piercing blue. " I just fall for the wrong person. " He shrugs, _what can I do?_ , helplessly.

   " _Yuuri_. " Viktor tugs a little on the hand he's still holding, and Yuuri looks back at him, because it's Viktor and he has to understand that nothing's wrong with him, _don't you gets it -_  
   

   "I'm such an idiot. "

   Viktor whispers, and _oh, is that tears in his eyes?_ and before Yuuri can do anything, Viktor leans in the rest of the way and kiss him, his lips soft and pliant and sweet and salty, a rush of adrenalin, of dreams and hope, Yuuri can wax poetry about this -  
 

   Wait.  
   Viktor's kissing him.

   It's as if the realization drains him, because Yuuri is _tired_. He can feel his limbs liquidfied, his eyelids dropping low, and his heart. His heart. It's. Content, he knows. The vines are lenient, and he can breathe, easier than months. A wonderful feeling. Yuuri thinks he hears Viktor say something, _I love you don't leave me don't you dare be so selfish -_  
_I was selfish? I'm trying to be selfless, Viktor. You baka_. Yuuri thinks idly

   Darkness comes to him like a warm, familiar blanket, and Yuuri welcomes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha i'm terrible at this please don't hate me ;; w ;; I know this au is not the most original but I've had the idea for such a longtime I have to write this oops :))) Anyway, thank you for reading. And if you find any mistake, which I'm sure is a lot but I'm too lazy to proofread , please tell me about it. Thank you <3  
> Ps: look who's finally showed up and proofread ! Oh god I made so many mistakes I want to punch myself and cry while doing so. I understand how you guys hate me so much now ;;w;; And about chapter 2, I'm staritng to write it, hopefully it'll be done soon (if I stop procrstinate enough) Fingers crossed guys !  
> last note: thank you everyone for supporting me in this. I can't describe how happy and grateful I am for this. I'm rambling now, so I should stop. But srsly, thank you.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

People say, when you have flowers in your lungs and thorn stems in your heart, you and your love are fated to doom. It’s not wrong, you see, it’s happened for so long and so so many times that the world unconsciously adopts it as the common truth. But –

It’s not actually right, either. Not to his mom, at least. She- she-

When he was young, his mother would tap his nose and ignore his protests, and smile her beautiful, beautiful smile:

 _Vitya_ , she would sing-song, _my dear Vitya, remember this: what’s common is not always the truth._

 _What does that mean, mama?_ He’d ask, curiosity a bright glint in his eyes, poured out from his words; his breaths were white puffs of smoke curling up because the world was so so so cold, but the ice rink was magic and he didn’t mind dancing like this, cold cold cold and giddy happy –

 _It means,_ she’d laughed, _that the flowers don’t grow on your love. They grow on your fear of a love not returned._

_Why are they afraid, then?_

And with that, her smile would soften a bit, a stain of sadness in the curl of her lips:

_Because, Vitya, people aren’t brave enough to have faith._

* * *

You see, Viktor had loved Yuuri long before he loved Viktor. He remembered one day, when the world was raining cats and dogs, and he was listening to Yuuri, face flushed and tired, a bad day at work evident on the crease of his eyebrows, in the slump of his shoulders, and he suddenly looked at Yuuri. At Yuuri’s eyes, at Yuuri’s lips, at _Yuuri_ , and thought:

_I think I love you._

When Viktor returned home, his lungs were scratchy and his heart squeezed painfully; there was already a sunflower petal in his bag- But his veins were this giddy, deliriously happy feeling that Viktor couldn’t contain. It was hope, because Viktor was brave, and loneliness a thousand times worse than death, he knew, he knew, he knew, he hoped-

_I hope that you can love me too._

Somewhere along the line, Viktor’s world has turned grey. He was still dancing, but all he heard was mute static, drowned in the hollow cheers and cries for _more more more_ , while he cut his soul and sewed it into step sequence and axels and loops, _more more more_ , and his heart bled dry but no one noticed, _more more more_ , like a spell from the evil witch in the fairy tales, except that they’re the kingdom and he’s the king, not witches and cauldrons, but he couldn’t break free. _Who would break free from his own empire?_ People would whisper, and tighten their chains around him.

Somewhere along the line, Viktor was tired. All his pleas for help, sewed into step sequence and toe loops and salchows, went unheard; the world was cold but there was no magic to keep him warm, not anymore, and the void in his head grew bigger and bigger and bigger by day and he couldn’t _breathe_ -

But then Yuuri came.

_Yuuri came._

And, ah. The world was still cold, and the murmurs still wrapped around his throat in a chokehold, but, but _but_ , the hanging rope was looser now, and the world around him has started to bloom into different shades of blue and red and later aquamarine and turquoise blue and scarlet and vermillion, dripping around him. Viktor breathed in colors, in _magic_. What could you do, with the air saturated with a newness you’d never known?

Viktor opened his mouth and caught the first snow flake.

 

* * *

 

Sunflower (n): warmth, strength, happiness

_(Man walks towards the Sun: a prayer is heard.)_

 

 

* * *

 

Viktor saw Yuuri’s affection towards him grows, like a night primrose slowly uncurling its petals under the soft moonlight: careful and serene, yet breathtaking when you actually pay attention. And oh, did Viktor pay attention. He saw the light blush on Yuuri’s cheeks turn more prominent, he felt the lingering of Yuuri’s gaze at him, he _shivered_ at the warmth from Yuuri’s hand, from Yuuri; Viktor was _sure_. He pushed back the fear, and the petals, and the thorned vines, because, because, why should he be afraid when he had Yuuri’s attention like this?

_I shall not be afraid._

The songs he danced to now reek of love, of life, and Viktor felt like laughing and crying at once. Feelings are so new when you’ve forgotten them for such a long time.

_I am not afraid._

(But, there’s always a _but_ , Viktor forgot, he’s always forgetting, that the world is ironic, it always has, especially to love, and the thing that helps him survive may also be the cause of his demise, too.)

 

* * *

 

 

Here’s the thing, here’s the thing: he’s danced alone for so _so_ long that he doesn’t know when somebody joins the dance.

 

* * *

 

It was supposed to be a tedious six-month separation from Yuuri, from most people in his life, because of the time zone and work and _Yakov_ , and Viktor didn’t expect anything to change, it’s just six months, when one night, Yura called.

His voice was calm, eerily calm, and Viktor idly thought that anger suited him better.

But then, ah.

Have you ever witnessed the end of the world?

 Viktor did, that moment.

He left 2 hours later, everything be damned, with Yakov standing next to him when his flight was called. The man didn’t say anything, just solemnly looked at him and let Viktor hug him one more time.

Viktor thought he knew, but neither of them said a word. It wasn’t necessary.

There was a lone sunflower petal in Viktor’s hand.

 

* * *

 

 

When he set his foot on Japan again, Viktor idly wondered if earthquakes were like this: the ground shook, and everything trembled; there was a tree near him, it’d fall down soon, because its roots were still too young, too shallow, to hold the earth tight under its curl. His heart broke, there’s a crack, and Viktor thought he was like that tree: twenty seven was not young, but in love, he was just a wee baby, his feet weren’t strong enough to stand on his own, let alone in an earthquake. Still, there was no one to blame but himself.

How foolish, to abandon a freshly bloomed flower on its own.

 But this is not the time to wallow in misery. Not now, when time is running out, and he doesn’t, not really, know what to do. But first thing first. He needs to see Yuuri.

Viktor is immensely glad that he didn’t bring anything with him, even Makkachin, for it would be a pain to put them away. Now, he calls the nearest cab and promises them more if they drive as fast as possible.

_I shall not be afraid._

But Viktor is afraid, so, so afraid, even if he feels the residue of wilted petals and the lone string-like vein wrapping around his heart turns into mere atoms and air. He doesn’t even know that he has them. Maybe, he’s been afraid all the time, a fear that’s unavoidable, just as he is a fallible human. How ironic, he thinks, that the moment all of his fear fades away, is also the moment Yuuri’s dying because of the fear of his love. The moment he escapes the doom of an unrequited love, is also the moment he faces the death of his heart, of Yuuri. How ironic, how ironic, how like the world that is, to take something from his hand the seconds he sees it.

Viktor bites his lips to stop the screams.

 

* * *

 

When he sees Yuuri, Viktor feels- he feels –

How do you describe the feeling that is everything and is _everything_ , all at once?

He stands there and waits desperately for Yuuri to say something, because he thinks he might break.

But when Yuuri does, and he says, he says that this is not Viktor’s fault, that everything is all right, and _there’s nothing you can do_ \- This, this feeling, at least he can identify.

It’s anger, scoring hot on both of his sides.

How can Yuuri say that, taking all the blame and leaving Viktor free of guilt, when this is all his crime? How can he placidly accept his imminent death like that, when Viktor is so, so terrified of losing Yuuri? How, how can he not see Viktor’s love when he’s the only one who’s ever had it? Those questions burn, but not for long, and Viktor can feel the desperation that fueled it rises. Because anger is never the result; it’s only the front for all the terrible feelings people want to hide.

He can’t breathe through the pain, and yet Yuuri still doesn’t realize the truth.

“I’m such an idiot”

He may have whisper it, Viktor doesn’t remember; the only thing he remember is leaning towards Yuuri, beautiful, lovely Yuuri who has all his heart in his hands and yet thinks that this is a fool’s wish, gentle, kind Yuuri who is dying because of him, and Viktor has to fix this somehow, has to tell Yuuri that there’s nothing to be afraid of, that he’s no one without Yuuri –

Yuuri’s lips are soft and sweet, and Viktor thinks of the word _alive_.

 But then, there’s a deafening noise screaming from the monitor, and Yuuri is limp in his arms and _oh God, why_ _why why must this happens what has he done wrong_ –

Viktor can’t remember much except crying and choking out words and sentences he’s kept in his heart for too long, of the nurses rushing in and immediately wheeling Yuuri away for operation, of being led to wait in one of those plastic chairs, tears on his face and heart in his mouth. Someone else must have called Phichit and Yuuko and Yura, because he doesn’t remember doing it, yet they are there in an instant, faces stricken with worry and fear. Yura is standing in a corner, hands curling into fist; his face is the most distraught Viktor has ever seen. Next to him, Yuuko is on the phone all the time, speaking softly in Japanese. Must be the Katsuki family, he idly thinks. He’s talked to them once, and they are good people, and their son is a good person, who shouldn’t have met Viktor, because look at them now-

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder. It’s not heavy, but the warmth of it is enough to pull Viktor back from his thoughts. Phichit doesn’t smile, but his words are warm, like his hand:

 - Have some faith. Yuuri is surprisingly strong, you know.

He knows, and he hopes that the world is kind enough to not let this be the only exception of that strength.

 

 

 

It’s hours later and he’s still sitting on that chair now, waiting for the red, unblinking eye to turn off and tell him what his life will become now. Viktor is tired, his legs are falling asleep, and the jet lag has finally caught up, but he doesn’t even notice.

The light has turned off.

He stumbles towards the doctors, his heart squeezing in his chest hard enough to feel the pain, but. There’s his look on the doctor’s face that tells him maybe, maybe it won’t end a tragedy. He grasps the doctor, like a drowning man grasps a lifeline.

 - How is he?

The others are behind him, and they can all feel the tension leaves the air when the doctor smiles:

 - Congratulation, this is a miracle.

Later, the doctor would say that a case like Yuuri’s is unprecedented, not only because of the resilience of the flowers, but also because of the sudden disappearance of said things. In fact, they dissipate so fast that it takes such a toll on Yuuri’s body. _But all have been taken care of,_ they would say _, this is truly a miracle. He will be expected to recover soon enough._

Now though, the only thing Viktor can think of is to thank the universe.

 

* * *

 

 When Yuuri wakes up, it’s four days later, and Viktor is sleeping quietly in the terribly hard chair next to him.

He’s exhausted, lead-like limbs and a muddled brain, but Yuuri gasps, and feels the air run through his lungs, unobstructed: the petals are completely gone. His heart is light, without those vicious veins; for a second Yuuri thinks that he’s dead and has gone to heaven, because this is _impossible_.

But next to him, there’s another noise, and Yuuri turns, just to look at the surprise on Viktor’s face. He smiles:

  - Hello there.

That seems to wake Viktor up from his stupor; his face unfreezes, and there are so, so many emotions fleeting through those eyes that Yuuri is breathless, again. Viktor smiles, too, a smile so soft and beautiful, and takes his hand:

 - I love you.

Yuuri should not be surprised, because Viktor‘s kissed him, he has _told_ him, but. The words fall onto his laps like silk, and Yuuri feels warm all over. They will have a lot to talk about, a lot of questions to be answered, but now, all Yuuri can think of is:

 - I love you too.

The stars outside are twinkling, dancing to a silent joy.

_Stay with me, and never leave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, if anyone is reading this, thank you for reading this till the end! It's my first piece, and there may be a lot of mistakes, but I hope you will forgive me, or better, point it out so I can learn from my lesson:) And I'm sorry for leaving you guys on that cliff for so long! Apparently, I'm that terrible kind of writer that reader-me hate so much ( laugh). And for my interpretation of Hanahaki, I think there's still loopholes, but it makes more sense to me than the mainstream idea of an one-sided love, because. Love is subjective, and you can't guess what's in the other heart, so how can you positively sure that your love is unrequited? So sure that your body accept death? So there you go, folks, and once again, thank you so much!


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